Julia London (41 page)

“Indeed? I had not noticed a limp,” the young Whitstone remarked as he eyed her tapping foot skeptically. Abbey glanced down at her feet and frowned. Aunt Nan was right. She could not tell a falsehood convincingly if her very life depended on it. Even this little fop knew it. But not Michael, damn him!

“Lady Darfield.”

Abbey whirled toward Galen’s voice, forgetting the young man. She gasped softly; her cousin looked horrible. His brown eyes were dull, set deep in his haggard face. She glanced uneasily toward the young fop. “If you will excuse me, sir,” she muttered, and walked quickly to Galen, leaving Whitstone gaping at her perfectly fine stride.

“I was afraid you had not received my message,” she whispered. Glancing furtively about, she grabbed Galen’s arm and led him toward a corner of the room where a stand of large potted plants had been moved to make room for the dancers.

“I needed some time to think.”

Abbey fairly shoved Galen behind one of the giant plants and faced him, her hands on her hips. His gaze slid over her and landed on the floor, where it remained. Abbey’s brows snapped together in a frown. He looked positively despondent, and she could only guess it was because he somehow suspected he had been discovered.

“Galen, I know about the dolls,” she began.

Galen held up a hand and shook his head. “Say no more, little one—”

“No,
you
say no more! You have not been very truthful with me, Galen. It’s all a lie, isn’t it?” she demanded.

Galen surprised her by nodding, immediately and effectively taking the wind out of her angry sails. She sagged against the wall, her arms dropping to her sides. A part of her had hoped he would deny it. God, why couldn’t he deny it?

“But why?” she murmured.

Galen shrugged and lifted his brown eyes to her. “He left
me without a farthing, Abbey. I was his only surviving male relative, and it just seemed so grossly unfair. Darfield is a very wealthy man—he doesn’t need your dowry, and at the time, my plan didn’t seem quite so horrible.”

Abbey’s jaw dropped at his confession. She could not fathom her beloved cousin would do this to her. She simply could not accept it. Galen looked nervously at the crowd and took a step farther into the shadows behind the plants.

“I should have told him this afternoon. If only I … His pain is quite evident, cousin. I think he loves you very much.”

That was a laugh. A very painful laugh. Abbey found her voice. “He doesn’t love me, and I fear the opportunity has been lost, thanks to your little charade. He suspected you from the beginning, and like a fool, I defended you!” she choked. Galen sadly nodded his head.

“How did you do it? The will, I mean. And the cuff links? The doll? How did you do it?” she demanded.

Galen sighed wearily and shoved his hands in his pocket. “Strait,” he muttered. “Apparently, out of necessity, the man learned your father’s signature years ago. There were times when the captain was not present to sign, and he vested Strait with the authority. Over time, the solicitor became quite adept at it, and when pressed, he signed the forged document, for a percentage. As for the cuff links, they were in Strait’s possession. He had intended to send them to you, as he knew they meant something to the captain. The doll? That was my idea. I recalled one you had dragged about as a little girl and recently, by chance, happened upon one very similar to it.”

“Mr. Strait was involved?” she whispered.

Galen paused. “Not willingly,” he sighed.

His confession shattered her into what felt like a thousand pieces. For a brief moment, she recalled the Galen of her youth, laughing on the decks of the
Dancing Maiden
, his dancing brown eyes shining down on her. Her heart wrenched at the memory; she could not fathom her beloved cousin participating in such a scheme. A scheme that had destroyed her marriage.

“I cannot believe this, Galen,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Why didn’t you come to me? I would have given you everything I had.” A tear slipped from her eye and traveled quickly down her pale cheek.

Galen sullenly watched its path. “I know. That’s why I didn’t press my claim. I could see it was destroying your happiness—”

“Could you?” she shot back. “You’ve destroyed my marriage before it had a chance to begin. I can never win back what I’ve lost, not now. You know that, don’t you? I only hope he believes you and does not continue to think that I …” She caught a sob in her throat. “That
I
did this to him!”

“We can go to him now, if you’d like. I will tell him everything,” he said solemnly.

Abbey stared at him, her mind warring with her heart. Why did all the men in her life betray her?

“
You
go. Tell him everything,” she ground out angrily. “If I go with you, he’ll suspect we are scheming. If he believes you, I’ll know it. One way or another, I’ll know it.” She pushed away from the wall and backed away from him, shaking her head in disbelief.

Galen, with his hands shoved in his pockets, watched her, misery etched on his face. “Abbey. Little one. I am so very sorry. You cannot
know
how sorry,” he said softly.

She bit her lower lip to keep a torrent of tears from gushing forth. God, she was sorry, too. Sorry her father had not provided for him. Sorry he had felt compelled to go to such incredible lengths. Sorry that he had ruined the near-perfect life she had with Michael. “It’s too late,” she whispered, and turning on her heel, walked away, her heart breaking for the hundredth time.

Galen’s own heart was breaking, too. She was right, his apology was too little, too late. He had destroyed her happiness, and he had never, ever wanted that. If he could roll back the clock, he would. If he could erase that fateful, chance encounter with Malcolm Routier in Calais, he would. If he could have undone the steps they had taken to defraud Darfield, he would gladly do it. He had not understood how
deeply Darfield felt about her until he had seen him this afternoon. The man had a wild look in his eye, but when he spoke Abbey’s name, something flickered in his gray eyes, something hauntingly touching. He should hardly be surprised. He could have loved her, too.

Over the last several days, Galen’s distaste for this unspeakable scheme had grown so great, he should have walked away from it. But Routier had pushed him, threatening him. At first, he had used the fact that Galen owed him five thousand pounds. But Routier’s motivation was not money. Galen had come to that realization rather slowly, but he had recently seen the incredible hatred the man bore for Darfield. What motivated Routier was a desire to see Darfield ruined, whatever the cost. He would never be able to undo what he had done, but at least he could stop Routier from ruining Darfield. Galen pushed away from the plants and began to make his way to the exit, determined to find the marquis.

He was nearing the door when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Off so soon, Carrey?” Malcolm Routier asked blandly.

“You could say that.”

“I was expecting to see you this afternoon, my friend. Were you favorably detained?” Routier asked slyly.

“I am not going through with it, Routier,” Galen bluntly admitted.

Routier’s yellow eyes went hard as stone. “Pardon?” he asked, forcing a smile onto his thin lips.

“You heard me. I’m not going through with it.”

Routier laughed politely and, glancing around them, grabbed Galen’s arm in a painful grip. “Surely I misunderstood you. You have no choice but to go through with it.”

Galen jerked his arm from Routier’s grip and walked outside, away from the heavily trafficked foyer. Routier followed him.

“Have you forgotten that you owe me?” he hissed at Galen’s back.

Galen shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“No, I have not forgotten. Turn me into the authorities if you will, but you will not force my hand in this.”

“What’s the matter, Carrey? Your pretty little cousin not willing to warm your bed just now?” he snarled.

Galen whirled and shoved Routier up against the brick wall, ignoring the startled looks of guests arriving at the Wilmington home. “Don’t, Routier,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “or I will break your bloody neck.”

Routier shoved back, then casually straightened his waistcoat. “You are a goddam fool, Carrey,” he muttered as he straightened the cuffs of his sleeves. “Do you have any concept of what I’ve done for you? I planned it, I made sure we got what we needed from Strait so you could make your little claim to a half million pounds. I made sure he wouldn’t get in the way—”

“What?”
Galen gasped.

Routier rolled his eyes. “Did it ever occur to you that when asked, the honest Mr. Strait might talk about what I made him do? How would that have looked for your claim? Did you ever think of that?”

“I thought he agreed to do it for a percentage!”

“You thought wrong. He was an honest man if nothing else.” Routier sighed coldly. At that moment, Galen thought he was the biggest fool in all the world. Not only had he destroyed his cousin, he had effectively had a man murdered. He might as well have pulled the trigger himself, and all because the captain had never forgiven his immaturity, his lack of responsibility. Good God, how ironic that was now! Carrington had been so bloody
right
! Look what he had done to Abbey. To Darfield. To Strait.

“You
disgust
me,” he muttered angrily, speaking to Routier but also to himself. Then he turned on his heel, walking away from Routier for good, to find Darfield.

Routier’s eyes narrowed. That bastard Carrey was about to cost him his one chance to ruin Darfield. He turned and walked back into the foyer, his mind racing. He was not through yet. Not yet. Darfield may keep his windfall, but he would know suffering at Routier’s hand.

Abbey stood near the doors opening to the terrace, glaring down every would-be dance partner. As usual, she was a whirl of conflicting emotions. She wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and try to forget the whole, horrible affair. But she was afraid to go home. What if Galen was there? She was not certain what Michael would do when he learned the truth, but she could not think it would be good. And on top of that, she had the very real problem of no transportation. Until Lady Paddington was ready, she was stuck. So she stood, awkwardly and alone, deflecting gentleman after gentleman, completely preoccupied with thoughts of Galen. Oh, God, how his betrayal stung. It stung as deeply as the captain’s, almost as deeply as Michael’s.

“Good evening, Lady Darfield.”

Abbey glanced to her right and smiled thinly. “Mr. Routier, what a pleasure,” she said politely.

“No, lady, the pleasure is always mine. Forgive me, but you look rather tired this evening, if you don’t mind me saying so. I hope your bout of nausea earlier this week was nothing serious.”

“Oh, no, I am perfectly fine, thank you. I suppose I am a bit tired.” She smiled.

“You don’t say.” Routier’s yellow eyes held hers for a long moment, pricking something in the back of her consciousness, but she pushed it away.

“Actually, I have not been sleeping too terribly well. I think I’ve a touch of insomnia.”

Malcolm raised a thin brow. “Indeed? I am sorry for that. Perhaps a turn about the gardens might help?” That actually sounded like a very good idea. Yes, a walk about the gardens would get her out of this stuffy room, away from the attentions of a dozen London dandies, and perhaps clear her head.

“I would like that very much,” she agreed, and with a smile took his proffered arm.

After greeting the Wilmingtons, Michael walked swiftly to the ballroom. He made a quick scan of the room but did not see Abbey. He turned and headed for the grand salon, thinking Lady Paddington might have enticed her into a game of loo, but she was not there, either. He began to return to the ballroom, but spied his two friends, Sam and Alex, sitting together at a table in the library, chatting amicably over a snifter of brandy. In spite of his mission, he smiled to himself and changed course. No doubt every debutante within a fifty-mile radius was plotting how to get two of the most eligible bachelors in all of Britain onto an overcrowded dance floor. No doubt the bachelors were plotting just as fiercely to stay off it.

“Darfield, we did not expect to see you this evening,” Alex said, stretching his long legs in front of him.

Michael took a seat at their table and accepted the brandy a footman offered him. “Wasn’t expecting to be here,” he admitted. “But I have something I would very much like to discuss with my wife.” He could not help himself; a faint smile turned the corners of his lips. Sam looked at him as if he had lost his mind; Alex chuckled.

“I, for one, will be greatly disappointed if the Darfields determine to spend their evenings together,” Alex whispered conspiratorially to Sam. “I have been extremely grateful for Lady Darfield’s willingness to attend Aunt Paddy.”

Sam was less hopeful. “I just hope there are no altercations.”

Michael smiled enigmatically and sipped his brandy. “None that I anticipate, but then again, with Lady Darfield, one can never be too sure.”

“Speak of the devil, isn’t that the cause of your rift?” Alex asked quietly, nodding toward the door.

Michael glanced over his shoulder, his face immediately darkening at the sight of Galen Carrey. “How in God’s name did he get in here?” he muttered. He placed the brandy snifter on the table and rose as Galen spotted him and walked quickly to him.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing here, Carrey?” Michael muttered through clenched teeth.

Galen flicked a nervous gaze to Sam and Alex, who both regarded him with disdain. He lifted his hands, palms facing outward. “Hear me out, Darfield, that’s all I ask.”

“I am through hearing you, Carrey. I would have thought I made that perfectly clear this afternoon.”

“I would not have come here except that I am concerned for Abbey—”

“She is
none
of your concern—”

“Perhaps not,” he interjected, “but I thought you would want to know that she is quite vulnerable at the moment.”

That drew Michael up short. “What do you mean?”